


To lose my Mind and find my Soul

by SquibbyWrites



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Operation gay camping is a go, Other, Slow Burn, intensely slow burn jesus christ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquibbyWrites/pseuds/SquibbyWrites
Summary: Elliot Witt's aim has taken a turn for the worse, and with Revenant on his back every match, it isn't getting any better. He finds himself looking to the Hunter who never misses their mark, and gets a proposal to join them for a hunt in the forests of Talos. His quarry? A mighty beast that only the bravest have hunted. The catch? He has to do it with little intervention from Bloodhound as possible.Alternatively; Elliot Witt and Bloodhound go on a camping trip of self discovery and learn that being gay in the forest is absolutely okay.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	To lose my Mind and find my Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Someone was going to write gay camping and it was always going to be me.  
> I haven't written in a while so I may be rusty, but I hope you guys enjoy Elliot and Bloodhound's completely straight and definitely not gay camping trip. 
> 
> This Fic is pretty much a rewrite of what me and @bluedogdown have already written together, so she gets just as much credit as I do! Check her out on Twitter!

The crack of the Wingman was always a dead giveaway for one's location, so it's master should pray that the shot should find its mark. A powerful weapon in the right hands, and a fool's hope in another. To say it was the most powerful pistol in the Apex Games would be an understatement, it was a must have for those with the aim worthy to wield such a weapon. A weapon's worth always came down to what was called TTK; Time to kill. The Wingman was exceptionally high, and with the skullpiercer hop-up modded onto the gun, with all headshots, the TTK was under a second. 

Powerful was an understatement. 

But the punishment of the weapon was sometimes far greater than the benefits. Especially if the marksman could not hit their mark.

Such was the fate of Elliot Witt, better known as Mirage in the games. The Wingman was always his weapon to show off, he carried one with him everywhere, found in his animated posters and videos, either in his hand or holstered at his hip. It would have been his call sign if not for the presence of his decoys which, in hindsight was his saving grace. Despite carrying the Wingman everywhere, Elliot seldom used the weapon, instead favouring submachine guns and assault rifles. Guns that if mistakes are made, they are easily rectified. The spitfire, in particular, he picked out most often. A heavy weapon with a massive magazine covered his ass multiple times especially by being cornered. Almost like a free getaway card from bad situations, and combined with his decoys- everything usually came up sunny. 

Others relied on their strengths and aim, but Elliot relied on his cunning and wit (no pun intended). Another reason he was basically the Apex Games poster boy. You didn't have to be _good_ at fighting to win, you just had to be smarter at the moment you were fighting your opponent.

Not everything went in Elliot's favour all the time, in fact, he was sure his ass was handed to him multiple times. His current teammate, Renee Blasey, or better known as Wraith, felt this well. 

_"I'm sick of carrying you when what you think will work **doesn't** , Witt." _She had remarked after one particularly painful game. Her words stuck, as most criticism did. 

Which he found himself thinking about when he took aim with the Wingman and missed his target. Something he knew he would be punished for.

The game hadn't been in his favour at all, Renee had landed them in the heat of battle, leaving him to only grab what was available or left behind. While she put her whole self into the battle and continued to wrack up a body count, Elliot teetered behind, finishing off those she'd knocked and picked up pieces when he could. While his primary weapon was an R-301 Carbine, another weapon that allowed mistakes and didn't punish as much as a single fire weapon, his secondary, for the first time in a while, had been a Wingman.

It took five squads before Renee went down, too far away from him, and her banner pinged on his HUD to be recovered. He knew she'd be upset that he had lagged so far behind, but he needed ammo, and no one Renee had fought had been carrying a light weapon, go figure. All Elliot could do was hope that whichever duo had shot her down had looted her box and left. 

But his luck was the luck of a Witt's. The culprits stayed at the box; which was how he found himself missing his target. 

Revenant's head had moved just as he took aim and fired, amber optics honing in on the Trickster's location. It was there that Elliot knew he was dead, the Simulacrum already making his way over to Elliot who in a desperate attempt to retreat, sent out his decoys. Ten of them, all running in different directions. But Revenant knew better, had learned his tricks of the trade too quickly for Elliot's comfort. 

He had realised his mistake of turning into the building when he felt the sickeningly familiar double tap burst of an EVA-8 shotgun in his back, making him double over and collapse. 

Dying in the games wasn't real. He knew he'd wake up on the dropship again filled with humility and a new lease of life, just as always. But dying always felt permanent, no matter how many times he fell to an opponent. 

Especially when the opponent was Revenant, who seemed to revel in his discomfort, draw out the death longer than it needed to be. The Simulacrum was sick, everyone knew that, but nothing was worse than having the Sim finishing someone off. He took his time, took people apart. Mentally, physically. Elliot had been on the receiving end multiple times, and no time was better than another. He had nightmares each time he was finished by Revenant, and hated being on a team with him if it meant he had to watch various people he cared about be finished in god-awful ways. 

This was going to be another one of those times.

Revenant slunk up to the downed Elliot, who along the way had picked up a golden knockdown shield. He hated the thing, really. It just gave the enemy time to play with him before he died- the Simulacrum was no exception.   
  
"How," Revenant started, a foot pressing into Elliot's shoulder. It made him wince. "...Do you miss five Wingman shots on a stationary target?" 

The words hurt more than Elliot was willing to admit. The foot in his shoulder digging in harder, and he could feel his life draining from his very body. He wished he could put his own gun in his mouth, it would have been better than to listen to Revenant berating him while taking him apart from the inside out. 

But, as it seemed, the luck of a Witt could turn. 

Elliot was immediately aware of a very loud _boom_ as the Simulacrum fell onto his knees, head fritzing from the headshot he had received. Somehow still clinging to life, Revenant crawled to the opposite corner of the room with what must have been a lot of blood loss. Oil loss. Whatever, Elliot didn't know if Simulacrums could bleed, nor did he care. He just hoped who ever had taken such a good shot could put him out of his misery early. 

The sound of light footsteps bounced off of the walls as another single shot rang out, and Elliot watched as Revenant fell before the shooter, his box a gold hue. Huh. He must have had a golden revive as well. Figures. 

His saving grace came in the form of Bloodhound and a Kraber. 

The hunter regarded him for a moment, as if confused, a quick scan of their environment confirming that Elliot was alone. It gave Elliot time to sit up, at least, though he was nearing the end and he knew it, bleeding out on the ground before the Hunter. Bloodhound seemed to sense this, taking a knee beside him. They knew how this went, usually. Quick, clean cut and a prayer for a safe journey to the other side- which he always thought was funny. No one actually died in the games, but Bloodhound prayed anyway. They were strange, but then, was there anyone normal that was an Apex Legend?

Interestingly enough, he was never conscious enough to hear them _say_ anything as they finished him, and always just assumed it was something in their native tongue. But no, there it was, clear as day. English. 

"You are no coward. Remember that." 

As the knife entered his throat, Elliot couldn't help but think that Bloodhound was wrong about that. He was a coward- and one with bad aim.

Waking up on the dropship left him groggy, and definitely not awake enough to cope with Renee's quips at him. _Should have been faster, next time loot faster, goddamn it Elliot._ He idly thought about changing his name to Goddamn it Elliot, he'd heard it all his life. Once her jabs were over, he at least congratulated her on her ten man kill streak, which seemed to sate her. The kunai in her hand spun, and she left him alone with his thoughts.

Which idly drifted back to Bloodhound, who was now on the ship after being named Champion of the Arena. He, apparently, was the last opponent. Bloodhound hand accepted the win with grace and a humble dip of the head. They'd won so many times, now, it was becoming the norm. He couldn't imagine any one deadlier with a Kraber than Bloodhound, who had a knack for aiming. 

Which gave him an idea. 

Elliot wasn't above asking for help in a roundabout way that made him sound less pathetic than he already did, and why not ask the champ after all? What did he have to lose? The worst they could say was no, and Elliot had encountered rejection enough that the sting didn't bother him _that_ much anymore. 

Still, he felt a chill run up his spine as he approached the Hunter, who was busily carving some kind of wooden figure with their dagger. His eyes drew to their gloved hands, which worked the wood delicately, which patient practice. He could see that slowly, it was becoming a bird- probably the same kind of bird that Artur was. Elliot never found it in him to ask what type of bird, considering how much Artur hated him and would continuously peck at his hair. The feeling was entirely mutual. Still, he was reminded of his staring when he caught Bloodhound looking at him, their hands having stopped work to regard him kindly. 

"Woah, hey, sorry. Hey 'Hound. Houndie. _Houndor_. Haha. So, _buddy_ , I was thinking, you know, you have _great_ aim. The best aim, even, I mean, did you _see_ your Kraber shot? I mean, I saw it. You saw it. You took it, y-you know." 

Bloodhound's silence made Elliot lose his edge somewhat, his eyes darting away from the ever watching goggles and wet his lip with his tongue.

"Well. I was wondering. Well, thinking- well- w-wondering. I mean, I have a question. Would you maybe _ever_ consider teaching your ol' buddy, ol' pal _Mirage_ a thing or two about aiming? I mean, I get it, I know I'm _good_ , better than good, otherwise I wouldn't be here. But uh. I just can't ever... you know. With the... the Wingman... the Sentinel... your _favourite_ guns." 

More silence. Elliot stood awkwardly for a moment, feeling somewhat out of his depth. He was about to turn on his heel with a laugh and tell Bloodhound to forget about it all but they spoke. Apparently waiting for him to finish (how polite) before speaking. Their voice was soft and considerate, something he'd only truly heard when in the ring. Outside of the games Bloodhound seemed quiet and reserved, but then, Elliot had never bothered to get to know them either. 

"The training range offers a variety of dummies that move in lifeline ways, I would suggest practicing your aim when the dropship lands, if you are looking to better your aim." 

"Yeah but I won't ever shoot like _you_." Elliot challenged. "I mean- h-have you _seen_ what shots you take? How do I- how do I get that good? Is it just constant practice because I find it pard-parta-pradi- _pretty_ hard to hold my hand steady and not get distracted by every little thing around me."

Again, Bloodhound seemed to consider his words. They were quiet, patient, something Elliot never truly could be. He was always doing something, always talking, always keeping his mind occupied on anything but himself. Bloodhound seemed to be the opposite, and at first, he had found them rude. But with some understanding, and a chide from Renee, he found that quiet just meant that they didn't have anything worth while to say or add. He guessed he could understand, but he definitely couldn't relate. 

His train of thought was broken by Bloodhound's voice, soft and gentle, but took over his mind like a wave crashing on shore. 

"Your flattery is misplaced, I am just the same as you. But, if you truly do wish to better your aim, I may suggest a pilgrimage, of sorts." They canted their head, glancing to Artur who was busy preening himself. Which meant their goggles rested back on Elliot. "One that I would be involved in, considering how dangerous they can be. In honour to become the warrior I am today, I bathed myself in nature, with no distractions, and found a way for my hand to be as steady as my mind. Your mind wants to shoot, but your hand hesitates. You need something simpler than a gun to ready your aim- and I believe I can help you." 

Elliot was elated. The thought of Bloodhound actually agreeing to teach him to have better aim was one thing, but to make some kind of big mission out of it too? That was a pretty sweet deal. But he did wonder what they had in mind. No distractions, bathed in nature...

"Okay, I am so totally in. So. When do we start?" 

Bloodhound made a sound in their throat that almost sounded like a chuckle. For some reason, Elliot felt his stomach flip. 

"You agree blindly. There will be hardly no technology, you understand this? No phones, no outside contact. It will simply be you and I in one of Talos' forests for two weeks. We will live off of the land while we hunt for your quarry." 

"I... sssso like _camping_? I've been camping, I was actually top of camp class, if you can believe that. Was really good at tying knots. You ever tied a knot, Bloodhound, cause I can show you-"

" _Witt_." Bloodhound's voice was sharp and cut through the air, and it shut him up. But it wasn't cruel or impatient, just a way to stop him from going off on a tangent. It made Elliot feel sheepish, in which he offered them a nervous smile, worrying fingers at his belt for a moment before he rubbed his chin in contemplation. 

"Yeah. I still want to do this. What's the worst that could happen, anyway? Two buds on a camping trip, going out in the great unknown- or maybe, it's the great unknown to me, you've probably been to the forest at least ten times. Maybe more. What type of forest anyway? Is like oak, or pine? Let me tell you, I love the smell of pine." 

Bloodhound took a brief moment for him to ramble, waiting yet again for Elliot to quieten- which he did once he noticed they seemed to have something left to say. The Dropship announcement system alerted that it was docking to Solace, and Bloodhound called for Artur, who came to rest on Bloodhound's forearm. Elliot's eyes followed their fingers to stroke Artur's chest, watching the bird caw and tilt its head in his direction. He could have _sworn_ the damn thing narrowed its eyes at him, which he returned in kind. 

"I will send you my ship's dock tonight, and you will meet me at six in the morning tomorrow. Bring only essentials and leave your phone. Talos is a good few hours away even in my ship." After a moment, they turned their head back to him. "We will be going to one of Talos' forests, one of the most harshest places in the outlands. Once there, we will set course for the mountain _Valhalla,_ where the ground reaches and kisses the sky. That is where you'll find your quarry- and your aim." 

Taking their leave, Elliot was momentarily stunned. He had thought it'd just be some backwater planet they'd go to but Talos? The place where the ground could split at any moment and one could fall into a pool of molten lava? Assuming the frost didn't kill him first, Talos was cold, a barren wasteland. How Bloodhound thrived there, he had no idea, but somehow he was suppose to survive there, without a phone, for better aim? 

Well... he'd already agreed, hadn't he? And he doubted Bloodhound would be happy if he stuck them up... 

Wait, did they say six in the _morning_?

Scrambling after them, Elliot weakly called out to Bloodhound: "Can't we make it _ten_ in the morning? I'm gonna die before we even _get_ to Talos!"

Even from this distance, Elliot could tell Bloodhound was shaking their head. Shit. 

Well. Six in the morning and he was going to Talos. _Oh boy._


End file.
